


Baby, You Are The Only Exception

by KilltheDJ



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The Young Blood Chronicles - Fall Out Boy (Music Video)
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M, Party Poison (mentioned) - Freeform, The Bands Aren't The Killjoys, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unashamed Use Of Gay Yearning Songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21869107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheDJ/pseuds/KilltheDJ
Summary: Marco just wanted to go to a concert; he didn't know how he ended up having his first kiss in his sibling's car.
Relationships: Kobra Kid/Mr. Sandman (Fall Out Boy)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	Baby, You Are The Only Exception

“I can’t believe I let you rope me into this.”

“You’re the one who wanted to go in the first place.”

Marco laughed quietly as he climbed onto the roof outside of his bedroom window; his Converse didn’t provide the best traction, but what did he care? The cold night air hitting his face and Dylan right next to him to catch him if he fell was enough reassurance for him. “Yeah, but I wasn’t serious.”

“Whatever. It’s worth it, right?” Well, if Dylan was involved, it was definitely worth it. Or maybe Marco was a bit biased, considering if anyone else asked he would never sneak out at one in the morning.

And it was worth it because beyond spending time with Dylan, Marco hadn’t been to a concert in ages and certainly not one that started at two a.m. in the next town over. Mad Gear And The Missile Kid was by far his favorite band, and he didn’t think he would be able to go.

Good thing he wasn’t paying for the tickets.

But he was paying for the gas, and Stef was so going to kill him for taking the Trans Am without permission, but Marco didn’t care too much about the repercussions of his night when he stumbled off the roof, clumsily landing on his feet on the wet grass. It had rained earlier, and was due to start up again. 

Dylan was right behind him, dropping down silently and with more grace than Marco had in his entire body. “You ready?”

Marco nodded; it was a lie. He figured he could apply his eyeliner before they got there, in the car when they made a stop or were outside the venue. There was no time before he had to leave, so he’d just put the eyeliner pen in his pocket. “Ready to be a delinquent? Hell yeah!”

“Aw,” Dylan mock-pouted, but it turned into a smug grin when Marco punched him in the shoulder playfully with an eye roll. “If I’d known that was tonight’s objective, I would’ve brought my spray paint.”

“You think Stef doesn’t keep spray paint in the trunk?” Marco raised a brow, bringing out the keys to the Trans Am from his pocket with a smile and a jingle. Stef should probably start keeping their things more secure, but Marco was a nosey little brother, after all.

It can in handy sometimes. 

Whatever Dylan responded with was lost to the night, since it was said while he was jumping in the passenger side; with Marco driving, for some reason. He didn’t even have a license, but he’d been driving for a good three years now.

You had to learn sometime, right? Marco’s was just when he was thirteen. And then when he was too lazy to get his learner’s permit. 

“D’ya think there’s gonna be merch?” Dylan asked, ever the conversation keeper, when Marco was too busy forgetting to answer back, looking out the back window to pull out of the driveway and not hit the mailboxes (like Stef had done a few weeks ago. Sorry Miss Demacy!) “Er - no, scratch that. D’ya think there’s gonna be affordable merch?”

Marco had to stifle his laughter, twisting the steering wheel the way he needed it to go. “Absolutely not. It’s Mad Gear And The Missile Kid. I do think we’re gonna be encouraged to steal it, though. I’m so not leaving empty-handed!”

“Yeah, you’re going home with me,” Dylan snorted, leaning back in his seat and adjusting it so he had less legroom and could, therefore, put his legs on the dash easier. 

Marco rolled his eyes for the second time in five minutes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. “Could you put a CD in? Backseat, there’s a CD case - but grab the scribbled-on one, that’s mine.”

With a shrug and a “sure,” Dylan took his seat belt to twist around in his seat and search through the backseat - there were more Wendy’s wrappers back there than what Marco had assumed judging by all the crunching of paper he heard. 

The awkward angle Dylan was turned at made it impossible for Marco to not poke him in the side with a giggle - And the way Dylan squeaked and flailed around made it worth it, even if they swerved a bit. This was a side road, anyway, it was fine. And they wouldn’t be on the main roads for too long (which were mostly empty at this time of night, anyway) before they were on a mostly-deserved highway. 

“Fuck you!” Dylan cursed, an indignant pout covering his face, sliding back into his seat and crossing his arms, holding the CD case between them.

Marco gestured for him to pick a CD and put his seat belt back on before turning his eyes back to the road. God, he was excited for his concert.

He was excited to be going to this concert with Dylan. 

His attention was only placed back on Dylan when Dylan started laughing, holding a basic silver CD in his palm, the labeling hidden from Marco’s view. Must be a burned CD with one of Marco’s weird titles on it.

Bingo. “Why’d you title this one ‘It’s Sunday Night, 3 AM, And I’m Having A Sexuality Crisis: The Playlist. For You Know Who.’?”

Marco didn’t even remember making that! Wait, no - no, he did, oh, FUCK. “...Um, it was Sunday night at 3 AM and I was having a sexuality crisis over Voldemort?” 

That was a lie. The 3 AM and the sexuality crisis were right (that was every Sunday night, thank you very much), but that mixtape was...definitely made about Dylan.

And just Marco’s luck, that’s the CD Dylan decided to play; Marco waited with quiet anxiety as he switched the CDs, waiting for the first track to play since he genuinely didn’t remember.

To add insult to injury, Marco instantly recognized the track (he did make the mixtape, why wouldn’t he?) as the song he played to himself when he was sad, when Stef was going through another one of their break-ups and Marco was still pining over a guy who wasn’t even gay.

The Only Exception by Paramore echoed through the car, all the windows rolled up, the vibrant glow of the traffic lights the only distraction for Marco as he waited for Dylan to react, to say something, to say he knew Marco’s secret and he knew that Marco was pastel for him.

But Dylan didn’t say anything. He was blankly staring at the radio like it would give him answers; it wouldn’t, and Marco’s knuckles were white from how tightly he was clutching the steering wheel. 

Dylan had to know, right?

The song came to a close before Dylan said anything; before it seemed Dylan could say anything. 

Marco’s distraction was the road, the soft pitter-patter of the rain hitting the windshield, - it had started to rain, just like Marco thought it was, the switching of the tracks.

This time it was Backseat Serenade by All Time Low.

Marco wanted to cry. It was so obvious, it had to be obvious, right? It was obvious to Marco. Maybe that was just because he made the mixtape? A few songs strung together couldn’t say too much about him, right?

Fuck, it literally said he was having a sexuality crisis on the front of the CD!

Still, he wanted Dylan to say something, anything, to confirm or deny Marco’s fears.

“...’S a good mixtape,” Dylan said quietly, nothing revealed in his face - and usually he was an open book, Marco didn’t like the guarded expression. He didn’t like it.

Marco nodded hesitantly, tension keeping him still and unable to add more than that. Focus on the road, focus on the road. 

“Hey, can we stop at a gas station or something?” Well, fuck, there went that excuse. 

With how uncharacteristically quiet Dylan was being and how his voice broke slightly and the way Marco currently wanted to die, he wasn’t going to deny the request. They were on the old rural highway by now and there were no gas stations around, so the best he could manage was pull over.

Marco nervously looked over to Dylan, tapping his index fingers on the steering wheel, the ending of Backseat Serenade seeming to shock Dylan out of his silence. 

“Can I - can I ask something weird and random? You can, you can answer honestly.”

What was he going to ask? Was Marco going to be incriminated by his answer? Could he lie - would he be willing to lie? Was Dylan going to bail on him and ask if he could be taken back home? Were they still going to go to the concert regardless of Marco’s answer? What was the question?

It was nearly impossible to pull himself out of his mess of thoughts and general anxiety, but Marco swallowed the lump in his throat and managed to look Dylan in the eyes. Fuck, he had pretty hazel eyes and the song playing now wasn’t helping - 

Ocean Avenue - Yellowcard. 

“Yeah. What’s up?” That’s it, Marco, play it cool, like you aren’t having an internal crisis. You got this. 

“Is there - can I - fuck, this is awkward,” Dylan shook his head, lowering his gaze, his messy jet black bangs falling in his face; Marco usually made fun of him for it, but he couldn’t now, not when he was so glued to every word Dylan was saying. He caught a glimpse of his face that said Dylan was as red as Stef’s hair. “Can I...kiss you?”

Wait - what?

Marco’s eyes widened, a stutter falling from his lips as he stared at Dylan.

Did Dylan just ask if he could - if he could kiss Marco? Was that allowed? Wasn’t Dylan straight? 

“I - um, I...If you want to.” If Marco’s voice raised an octave, you couldn’t blame him. Dylan was asking to kiss him and fucking Ocean Avenue was playing in the background and they were on their way to a Mad Gear concert and - and 

Oh, Marco was being kissed, okay. 

Dylan’s lips were chapped and they were both twisted awkwardly over the center console and it hurt Marco’s back but he couldn’t help but try to kiss back as well as he could - he didn’t know what he was doing but he knew that when he closed his eyes he didn’t want whatever this was to stop. 

But all things had to come to an end, and Marco’s neck was really starting to hurt, so he pulled away with a shuddering breath, giving Dylan the same look of shock as earlier, but with more surprise mixed in. “What was - what was that for?” 

“It’s...a good CD to kiss your friends too, right?” Dylan gave a half-assed laugh, smiling sheepishly at Marco like he was waiting for Marco to make him regret it. 

Marco was too busy processing that he’d just had his first kiss to say anything snarky back; or anything, actually. This was taking him a moment or two, okay?

“...I...yeah. It is. We should, um, we should get going, I don’t want to be late,” Marco mumbled, slurring his words together in his haste to get them out of his mouth and out into the open and hoping his tone alone would convey all his muddled feelings about right now. 

That was his first kiss… to the ‘straight’ guy he’d been crushing on for years… to a CD he burned specifically thinking about said guy… while they were on their way to a Mad Gear concert…

That was too much to process for one day, thank you very much.

**Author's Note:**

> This is unedited as FUCK I know, it's fine though I SWEAR. Ross said I should post it and the thin rope that kept me back SNAPPED. Hope you like it! :D What'cha think?


End file.
